


Where Hearts Collide

by mibasiamille



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, mibasiamille, where hearts collide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-14 03:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11199216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mibasiamille/pseuds/mibasiamille
Summary: After a falling out four years ago, Claire shows up randomly at Jamie's doorstep in the early hours of the morning.This fic goes across the span of several years, depicting important moments from when they met 5 years prior to when they meet again.





	1. A Promise

Jamie was still awake when the doorbell rang sometime around 4. Always a restless sleeper, he didn’t usually go to sleep until 2 or 3 on a good day, but tonight was a rare exception.

        He was used to this routine by now: trying to go to sleep around 12:30/1, rolling around for a few hours, not being able to fall into the R.E.M. phase. Instead, he would stare at the ceiling, ignoring the coldness of the other side of the bed.

      While in his dreams, he saw the same things repeatedly: fire, destruction, death; the desolation left in the wakes of falling buildings, the smell of smoke and burning flesh enveloping the block in a thick, dark blanket. And the same eyes, golden as the dawn, pulling him out of the darkness.

        After unlocking the multiple locking mechanisms on his door—he knew that trust is a rare thing in New York City, especially in the shabbier apartment complexes—he opened it.

        The first thing he noticed were the bags at her feet, round to the point where they wouldn’t zip completely closed. The second was the small grey cat curled up tightly in her sweater-clad arms, mewing softly at him as they locked eyes. The last were the golden eyes of the woman before him, the shining beacons in the darkened morning, rimmed lightly with tears.

        He recognized her, then.

        And his heart almost imploded.

        “Hello,” she murmured, sniffing once softly. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

        He shrugged casually, shifting awkwardly on his feet. _Thank_ God _you put on pants_ , he thought.

        After a moment of silence, she sniffed her nose again. “I’d hate to impose on you, but… **I need a place to stay**.” In response to the incredulous look he probably gave her, she shifted the animal in her arms and sighed, “You’re the only other person in the city I know well enough to ask. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

        He tried to control his breathing so as not show how terrified he was. _In, out. In, out_. 

      Opening the door wider, he grabbed a few of her bags and brought them into the living room. She turned to him as he went to grab the last bag.

        “Are you okay with him being inside?” She gestured with her head to the small grey ball in her arms. “Are pets allowed in here?”

        Jamie waved her off, nodding, “Aye, he’s fine.”

        The air surrounding them was stagnant. Black. Almost as black as the smoke that haunts his dreams.

        “Is everything alright, Claire?” He asked, testing her name on his lips. He hadn’t said it in years.

        She looked down at her lap where her hands rested, rubbing her left ring finger absent-mindedly. Jamie noticed the movement, so unconsciously done, but noticed that no ring rested there. He swallowed loudly.

        “Physically, yes,” she murmured finally, meeting his eyes with a hard stare. “ _Emotionally_ , I can’t say.”

        Carefully, he sat beside her on the couch, making sure to leave a defined space between them. He wouldn’t prod or push her; she would only tell him what she wanted to.

        Finally, after a moment’s pause, she began. “I got married last year. He was a very respectable man, a history professor at Columbia.

        “The first few months were great—we were _happy_ , although it didn’t last very long.” She chuckled humorlessly, running a hand through her unruly hair. It made him think of Medusa—a thousand snakes curling around the crown of her head. She turned to him and met his eyes, turning him to stone.

      “A few months ago, my schooling was getting more intensive. I was gone from five in the morning to ten at night, either working in the hospital or doing paperwork or sitting in on meetings. He was going on trips frequently for his research—he’s really interested in Bonnie Prince Charlie and the ’45 Revolution in Scotland.

      “We stopped seeing each other as often. He ended up finding… _others,_ to help him occupy his time.”

      Her voice was getting thicker with each new word, and Jamie—without thinking—reached for her hand. _I support you_ , it said.

      She didn’t pull away, but instead squeezed his hand tighter.

      “Long story short, I found out about it yesterday. He got angry at me—we had a spat, and I went to work. I kept thinking about it all day, and I tried to reason with myself… tell myself that he wouldn’t do it again. But I came home, and…”

      Jamie squeezed her hand again. She squeezed back.

      “You don’t need to tell me more,” he told her. Then, more earnestly, “Ye’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.”

      Meeting his eyes, her lips turned upwards slightly. 

      A memory hit him, then—the pair of them in bed, naked, tangled together in the sheets as they laughed at a bad joke he had told her. Her eyes, bright and alive with a spark of humor, meeting his. Her cheeks, pulled tightly backwards in a large grin, blushed pink from exertion. Her lips, plump and sweet as honey, kissing the place where his neck and his shoulder met. She always reminded him of honey.

        She brought him out of his reverie, eyes holding his intently.

        “I just… I don’t want to be alone tonight, Jamie.” She murmured, his name on her lips sending a shockwave down his spine.

        “Sassenach,” he murmured, then stopped himself. Clearing his throat, he amended, “ _Claire._  I promise, I wilna leave you alone.”

      _Ever_ , he added in his mind.


	2. The Only One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of chapter one: Claire shows up on Jamie's doorstep with her cat, Adso, in need of a place to stay.

They had decided that Claire would sleep in the bed and Jamie on the couch in the living room. She offered multiple times to switch with him—“It probably wouldn’t be good for your back,” she had said—but she shrugged it off, assuring her that it was fine.

        He cleared out a few of the drawers in his dresser and closet for her nicer clothes and scrubs so that they wouldn’t get wrinkled in her bags. She set up Adso’s litter box in the small closet he used for laundry. With every new thing they added, his heart expanded, but then her words echoed in the chambers of his heart like a pipe organ.

        “This isn’t permanent,” she told him. “I’ll find my own place soon enough and I’ll be out of your hair.”

        _Don’t leave_ , he pleaded.

        She had gone into his room an hour ago, around 5. She was off the clock today—“Not for very long, though. I’m sure they’ll find something for me to do.”—and his hope grew steadily stronger. Would they spend the day together, make up for the time that they had lost? He sure hoped so.

        When she stepped out of the bedroom around 6 o’ clock, he was still awake on the couch, a lamp turned on as he read through some paperback novel he’d read a thousand times before. He peered up from it and smiled when their eyes met.

        “Can’t sleep?” She asked, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Despite the robe that she wore, Jamie could see the long expanse of leg and thigh underneath. Goosebumps rose on his skin.

        He shook his head. “Nah, I havena been much of a sleeper as of late.”

        “An insomniac, then?” She mused, stepping into the kitchen in search of the cups.

        “Fourth shelf on the left, next to the fridge,” he stated, then answered her question. “It’s no’ insomnia, I don’t think. I _do_ sleep, just not nearly enough as I should.”

        A small smile formed on her lips. “That’s not good for you; minimal amounts sleep at the early hours of the morning. You know, experts say that you get your best sleep between midnight and four.”

        Jamie smiled, “Aye, well, it’s been about four years or so since I’ve actually gotten a good night’s sleep.”

        As soon the words passed his lips, he blushed furiously out of embarrassment. Maybe she wouldn’t notice his slip.

        She did, in fact, notice this slip, and decided to take a sip of her water instead of replying immediately. This left Jamie in agony, staring at Adso peacefully resting on the couch beside where he sat.

        “You haven’t slept well in _four years_?” Claire whispered finally, causing Jamie to blush even more.

        Shaking his head, he sighed. “It isna so easy to be used to sleeping with someone beside ye, then to all of the sudden have them gone wi’out being able to prepare for it.”

        He could hear her swallow audibly. Immediately, he regretted the last few minutes of conversation between them. He didn’t want her to think he was angry at her—he had been, a long time ago, but he had gotten over himself. Her reasoning was understandable, more so now than it was when she had first decided to leave. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

        She crossed the room slowly, sitting between him and Adso, and took his hand.

        “Jamie,” She told him, pausing as if she didn’t know what to say. Instead, she kissed the back of his hand reverently.

        Their eyes met. It took him everything he had not to take her right then and there.

        Before he could say anything, she murmured, “I know that there is nothing that can undo what I did to you. It was selfish and cruel, and you didn’t deserve it. But I want you to know…”

        “Ye dinna need to explain yourself to me, Sa—Claire.”

        Taking her other hand and wrapping it over both of theirs, she squeezed once and said. “I don’t mind it if you call me that, Jamie.”

        He smiled a bit, looking down at their hands. “I understand why ye did it. There’s no reason for you to try to apologize. Granted, I didna understand at the time, and was butthurt for a good while afterwards,” he smiled again. Raising her hands to his lips, he kissed each of her palms as she had his. “I didna ken then, but I do now.”

        With eyes filled with tears, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. “This is why I couldn’t stay. You were way too good to me.”

        “Ye deserve a man that’s good to ye, Claire,” he whispered fervently. On a reasonable day, he wouldn’t have said these things to her, out loud. But hell, it was 6 in the morning and the love of his life was in his arms. There was nothing else he would rather have said in that moment.

        She pulled herself away from him, looking into his eyes. Filled with tenderness, she reached for his face and closed the gap between them.

        He tried to remember her so often: her face when finishing, creased in ecstasy as their bodies melted into each other. The way her smile made her eyes wrinkle at the corners and her nose scrunch up slightly. How she’d shout _Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!_ whenever she got frustrated, and the odd story of where she first heard the phrase. But the thing he tried to remember most frequently were her lips, how the smooth expanse of them could take the reign of his heart and steer him wherever she wanted him to go.

        She hesitated for a moment, tracing the outline of his own lips with her finger.

        “Claire,” he whispered. Her eyes snapped to his, the color of warm honey. “Don’t you know that you’re the only one for me?”

        They fell into each other like clay being kneaded by a sculptor, molded and squeezed and pressed into the shape of their love.

        A moment later, she pulled away from him and murmured, “Do you remember when I said I didn’t want to be alone tonight?”     

        He smiled, knowing exactly where her mind was headed. Without another word, he picked her up and wrapped her legs around his torso, making a path to the bedroom before closing the door sharply behind him.


	3. Astronomy in Reverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where their story begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***** !! disclaimer: I am not trying to make light of a horrific situation or use other people’s suffering for entertainment purposes. I know that many people were affected by the tragedy used in this work and that a lot of the wounds are still fresh. Please know that I am sorry if I hurt you in any way, for that is not my goal. If you wish to talk to me more about this or voice your concerns, please feel free to message me. !! *****

**FIVE YEARS AGO**

 

 

He was dead. He was sure of it.

     Darkness had surrounded him long ago, covering his lungs in a thick layer of black smoke. Embers had embedded themselves in his heart, burning him from the inside out. He tried to move but couldn’t; something was weighing heavily on his back and shoulders. When he went to see what it was, sharp pains danced across his backbone.

     Closing his eyes, he prayed softly to himself, for the sake of his sister, that his brother in law was safe; that he wasn’t in the same predicament he had found himself in.

    _Lord, might he be safe._

 

 

 

His senses faded one by one.

      First it was his hearing, which blocked out the sounds of toppling metal and shrill, bloodcurdling screams; the sound of bodies hitting the ground, limp and lifeless, as they jumped from the 70th, 80th, and 90th floors to their deaths. The horrific wail of metal scraping metal, the crashing of thousands upon thousands of chairs, desks, computers, and tables against the solid ground below. The shouts of emergency personnel, trying to clear the site to find survivors; the wails of bystanders as they clawed at the wreckage, praying that their loved ones had not perished in the flames. All of it faded into a thick hum, a single bell ringing continuously in his ear.

      Then it was smell; no longer did the redolence of burning flesh invade his nostrils, nor the harsh metal of his blood. Every scent had been masked into a stark blankness.

      After losing feeling in most of his limbs—and he prayed once more that he might be able to keep them—and the blood in his mouth tasted like nothing more than water, he felt his eyes drift closed. Finally, he allowed himself to be taken in by the darkness that had dragged him down so long ago.

      The words of his best friend echoed in his mind as he slipped from consciousness, words said in their native tongue right before they had made their way into the valley of death.

      _Go with God, my brother._

 

 

 

I was standing in the on-call room when all hell broke lose. Everyone was terrified, running to their phones so they could call their loved ones. The entire hospital seemed to be full of the fear of the unknown, and yet, the world didn’t stop moving.

      And neither did I.

      A few hours after the attack, the E.R. was full of patients. Not only survivors of the fall, but bystanders and civilians that had been standing within twenty miles or so at the time of impact. Most of the injuries were the same: broken bones, bruises, pleurisy, and similar ailments that came along with a lengthened exposure to smoke. But there was one man, in particular, that was somewhat different from the rest.

      His back was covered in deep lacerations, undoubtedly to become scar tissue for the rest of his life. According to the person who had found him, he was lying underneath part of a steel beam, heavy enough to rupture an organ—and it did; the impact of his fall ruptured his kidney and spleen. On top of this, his right hand had been pinned through with a large iron nail, directly through the tendons of his middle and ring fingers. He would likely have trouble moving them fluidly in the future (if he survived), but I knew that with some reconstructive surgery and physical therapy, he could regain full motion in a couple of years.

      I had heard from someone around me that he was a firefighter, and a bloody good one at that, sent in with his squadron to find and rescue stragglers before the building began to topple to the ground. There were forty or so on his team, but only a handful had made it out.

      Being a very large man, it took me, another nurse and two of the paramedics to move him from the ambulance’s gurney to ours. We were to transport him from here directly to the O.R., where Dr. Abernathy would start, in his own words, _taking a swing at that back_.

      As we were pushing him down the hallway, I saw his eyelids flutter as he regained consciousness. So as to not hurt him, I rested my hand (which always held a temperature of negative fifty degrees) on his forehead, hoping to quench a bit of the fever that burned him from the inside out.

      The sweetest, most child-like smile spread across his lips for a fleeting moment before he drifted away again.

      After we got everything situated in the operating room, I started to scrub in.

      My partner, Louise, squeezed beside me and started doing the same. She leaned over to me cautiously and whispered, “I heard from Mary that he saved over forty people from their deaths. He had brought them down in a group just before… _they fell_. His commander told him to stay on the ground but went back in. Apparently, he had just made it to the thirtieth floor before the second tower collapsed.”

      I made eye contact with Joe, who nodded at me in affirmation of my unasked question. I scrubbed my hands one last time before stepping into the operating room. Looking back at the man’s face, I couldn’t help but lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. Whether it was to strengthen him or myself, I didn’t know.

     “Damn bloody hero,” I murmured, turning to Joe. “What world would allow something so terrible to happen to such a good person?”

     Joe’s dark eyes met my own, not missing a beat as he said grimly, “I don’t know, but I suppose it’s the same world where someone bombs two buildings full of innocent people.” He stretched out his arms once then murmured, “Let’s begin.”

 

 

 

When he woke, he was staring at the sun.

      A pair of eyes—sharp as a hawk’s and as colorful and vibrant as the autumn leaves in Central Park—were staring into his own as she waved a flashlight over them, checking for a response.

      Whatever she saw pleased her, for she smiled a bit and laid a careful hand on his left shoulder. It wasn’t until then that he realized he was lying on his stomach, his back wrapped with more bandages than a mummy and his right hand covered in a hard, rock-like cast.

      “Good morning, Mr. Fraser. How are you feeling?”

      Her voice was like honey to his ears, almost like the kind his mother used when he was young. She would always let him play with the bowl as she baked sweet treats; he’d take spoons and scoop up large amounts of warm honey just to watch it flow gracefully in a thin line back into the bowl.

      This woman seemed to be just like honey. _Beautiful, soft, sweet._

      Despite this relatively accurate description of the nurse before him, her hands lacked the _warmth_ of honey. She prodded carefully on the side of his neck, checking for a pulse. Her bare hands on him made him shiver slightly and she pulled away.

      “55 BPM. Not too bad,” she murmured to herself.

      Jamie cleared his throat once in an attempt to rid it of the vile lump that rested there, and spoke in a hoarse voice. “How long have I been in here?”

      “You were brought in a few days ago, with about a hundred others. We took you right into surgery when you arrived.”

        He coughed again, and the nurse turned around sharply to grab a cup of water with a bendy straw sticking out of it. She held it in front of him, allowing him to take long sips of the divine substance before pulling out her clipboard once more.

        “Well, Mr. Fraser, I’m sure someone will want to speak with you now that you’re awake. I’ll go fetch Dr. Abernathy.”

        Before she had the chance to leave the room, however, he reached for her wrist, his large fingers wrapping tightly around her ivory skin. She froze, amber eyes wide.

        He loosened his grip. “Please, I need to know something.”

        “I don’t know if I can give you the answer,” she murmured. Pausing, she set the clipboard down on his bedside table and took his hand in both of her own. She must’ve seen the desperation in his eyes, for her own softened and the corners of her lips rose in a kind smile. “I can try my best.”

        He swallowed the bile rising in his throat, imploring more so with his eyes than his voice. “My brother—“ he was about to add the _in-law_ , but felt that it wasn’t necessary. “Ian Murray. He was with me when…”

        “I see.” She pursed her lips slightly, turning away from his gaze to clear the cloudiness of her vision. He noticed the tears forming in her eyes at the mention of the recent tragedy.

        Squeezing his hand once, then twice, she murmured, “I can’t guarantee his survival, Mr. Fraser. But I’ll find out what I can.”

        He nodded, pushing back the feelings of guilt and sadness taking over his heart. It started to weigh down on him, like an elephant sitting on his back. Their hands were still clasped together—one of his in two of hers—and he squeezed one of them gently in thanks.

        She met his eyes and attempted to smile again. “On the bright side, your condition is improving. You came in with a lot of shrapnel in your back that Dr. Abernathy and I had to extract, but we got all of it. Your hand was also damaged severely, so we had to perform reconstructive surgery on it. But we got everything set and stitched up.”

      He nodded, but allowed her to continue.

      “Your ring finger will be stiffer than your middle finger, but they should still function normally. We’re scheduling you for physical therapy within the month—you’ll need it for both of the more serious injuries. You also have pleurisy, so we have antibiotics for you to take.”

      “Thank God I have insurance,” He murmured, an attempt at humor.

      She nodded once, squeezing his hand again before standing to leave once more. “If you need me, Mr. Fraser, you can push that little red button there.” She gestured to the small handheld remote on his bedside table. “I’m at your beck and call.”

       “Thank ye, Nurse.”

      “Claire,” she replied. “You should get some rest. Your body is very weak, Mr. Fraser.”

      “Jamie. If I get to call you by yer first name, then it’s only fair if ye call me by mine,” He said, smiling at her. She returned it, then went to leave the room.

     “Claire?” When she turned from the doorframe and raised her eyebrows mildly in reply, he asked, “Can ye tell me what today’s date is?”

      She nodded, thin-lipped. “Of course. It’s the fourteenth of September, 2001.”

 

 

 

The next time I saw Jamie was in Boone, North Carolina.

     Despite my multiple attempts to see him again, to check up on him and relay to him the information I learned of his brother, everything was so hectic that I ended up getting swapped out with one of the newer nurses. A bit peeved, the next time I was able to see him was a week or so later, when I sneaked into his room during one of my breaks. I was able to hold his hands as I told him the fate of Ian Murray.

     Watching someone go thoroughly to pieces is never a pretty sight. The way their eyes crinkle in sadness, their mouths open slightly, crackled wails escaping their lips. Tears streaming down their faces, caught up with snot. Hearts cracked open, their sorrows oozing out slowly like lava in the cracks of the Earth’s crust. And at the time, I had hoped to be able to keep him from falling, with his sorrows, into a puddle on the floor.

     I had held him for as long as I was able, in a small attempt to keep him upright in bed. With his back and hand both healing still, I had to be careful to watch him and make sure he didn’t hurt himself, but as soon as his head hit my shoulder, his tears soaking up my uniform and single hand clutching my own, I didn’t think of anything else but making him feel better.

     The last thing I had said–or, rather, _sang_ –to him that night was a short lullaby my mother used in my youth to help me sleep. It was a short, silly thing; the words meant nothing, made of complete and utter nonsense. But as I sang it softly into his ear, rocking him gently as one would a weeping child, he began to relax against me, molding to the forms of my body before drifting soundlessly off into a deep sleep.

     I thought of our last meeting as I walked up the steps of his sister’s home, flowers in hand. I knew that nothing could fill the empty void of a loved one–a void that I had known all too well. But I was hoping that the gesture would help them realize that people cared for them and wanted to help them; that they weren’t alone.

     The door was open and I stepped inside.

     People were everywhere, scattered about the different rooms in hoards of black clothing. Children ran around laughing and playing with each other, juxtaposing the grim faces of the adults that surrounded them. Vases upon vases of flowers occupied the emptier spaces, and I immediately felt like throwing the ones I had away.

     But when I heard my name being called from another room, I remembered why I had brought them.

     He was seated in the study but stood up abruptly when we made eye contact. I noticed his small wince, but he seemed to have ignored it as he crossed the threshold to meet me.

     Before saying anything, he took me in his arms and pulled me to him, enveloping me in his embrace. Careful not to touch the tender skin of his back, I opted to wrap my arms around his neck instead, breathing him in. I didn’t realize how much I had missed his presence until I held him in my arms.

     “I’m so glad ye’re here, Claire,” Jamie murmured, still holding me to him.

     “I wouldn’t have missed it.”

     He pulled away–reluctantly, it seemed–and took the flowers from my hand, nodding in thanks. He put them with the others then returned to me, taking my right hand in his left. “I canna believe you came all this way.”

     I shook my head, looking down at our hands. “I know this might sound… silly but… I just felt like I _had_ to.”

    Jamie nodded, smiling a bit as he pressed his lips to my forehead. I closed my eyes, relishing in the feeling. When he pulled back, I asked, “How are you feeling?”

    “Better. _Physically_ , anyway. I took up wi’ a physical therapist here, since I’ll be needin’ to stay with my sister for a bit while she recovers.”

     I squeezed his hand. “Given the amount of people here, I’m sure you already know this, but please know that there are people that would be happy to help you. You two don’t have to go through this alone.” I looked into his eyes and tried to speak with as much _Nurse Claire_ in my voice as I could. “I don’t want to have to patch you up again.”

     “Thank ye.” He lifted my hand to his lips, kissing it lightly. A second later he asked, “I know this is a daft question, but did Dr. Abernathy perform _both_ of my surgeries?”

     “Well… he did your back.” I blushed, looking down at his casted right hand. “ _I_ did your hand.”

     Shocked, Jamie’s eyes widened significantly. “I would think that my hand would ha’ been more difficult, given all the tendons and bones and such.”

     “It wasn’t an easy task, I’ll tell you that. The bone had been splintered and your tendons tangled around each other and frayed…” I blushed a deeper shade of scarlet. “I’ll tell you a secret, though: that was my first real surgery.”

     His eyebrows rose. “Ever?”

     “ _Ever_.”

     Shaking his head, he pulled me back to him once more, murmuring in my hair, “Ye have a gift, Claire. And I’m verra glad you were able to use it on me.”

     “Well, I hope I never have to use it on you again,” I teased.


	4. Ashes

**TWO MONTHS AGO**

  
The wind whistling through the crack in the window woke me from my dreams; frustrated to be disturbed by something so minute, I crossed the room in three strides and slammed the window closed,  _daring_  someone to yell at me about it. The alarm clock on my nightstand shifted slightly as I did this, the bright red numbers blinking in time with my heartbeat:  _ **3:30 A.M.**_  Groaning, I collapsed on top of the bed, praying to God that I could get at least one more hour of good rest before tomorrow morning. **  
**

Just as I was about to doze off again, a loud bang! came from outside the front door. I jumped, my heart hammering in my chest as my brain jumped immediately to the worst. Calmly and carefully, I reached for the crowbar behind my dresser and stepped out of the confines of my room, preparing to ward off an unwanted intruder.

I cautiously made my way to the front door, peeking through the peephole. An unwanted intruder  _did_  reside on the other side, but it wasn’t a burglar; in fact, he was  _quite_  the opposite.

“ _Claire_ ,” The voice moaned–or was it  _whined_?–through the door. Another thud; I could see through the peephole that he had been leaning against it, his legs falling beneath him in a drunken stupor. I watched as he fell down onto his bottom, his head leaning back against the door.

I set the crowbar down on the floor beside me before turning the knob. Since the entirety of his weight had been resting on it, the door swung open quickly, causing him to fall hard onto his back. I didn’t flinch–hell, I didn’t even  _blink_ –as I heard the soft  _thud_  of his head hitting the wood floor, and for a moment I just stared, as if he was an alien or a figure from another time.

 _Jamie_.

He groaned, pulling me out of whatever trance I had been in. I crouched down, my instincts kicking in as I checked his head for injuries. As I did this, his eyes slowly opened; when they met mine, he smiled widely.

“ _Mo nighean_.” He said softly, reaching up for my face with his right hand. In every attempt I could to remain impassive, I ignored the endearing nickname and instead inquired about his injuries. His only response was the same thing, this reiteration a bit more slurred than the last.

I sighed, looking out to the landing where our neighbor, Mrs. Baird, was standing, her eyebrows creased in concern. Instead of saying anything, I gave her a thin-lipped smile before standing and pushing the door closed, encasing the two of us in darkness, save the moonlight streaming in from the window.

As hard as I tried to keep my emotions in check, I couldn’t. I looked down at my surprise visitor with hands on my hips and eyebrows raised as I asked, in the firmest voice I could muster, “What the  _bloody hell_  are you doing here?”

His eyelids fluttered as he writhed about on the floor in a vain attempt to sit up. “I was–I  _am_ … I’m here ta see ye, Sass–” A hiccup. “ _Sassenach_.”

“Yes, I gathered that.” My teeth clenched; I didn’t want to be angry with him, but I couldn’t help the words from coming out. “How did you  _find_  me?”

The smile wiped off his face immediately. His expression and tone of voice were both serious as he murmured, “I will  _always_  find ye.”

Suppressing an eye roll, I stooped down and helped him stand, taking him to the couch and plopping him down there. His hand had been wrapped around my waist and he squeezed once experimentally, as if to make sure that I was real. When he sat–or, rather,  _fell_ –onto it, he looked back up at me through slitted lids.

All of the sudden, his eyes shot open, and he glanced around the room before leaning in close. “Is yer  _husband_  here, then?”

My arms crossed in front of my chest. “ _No_ , he’s not here; won’t be for a while, I expect.”

He started to lean to the side, falling over from his upright position. I sighed, looking over at him in his intoxicated state. My heart started to dethaw minute by minute as I watched him, obviously bereft over something to have found out where I lived and walked all the way here, unless…

“Jamie, did you  _walk_  here?”

“Aye,” he nodded. I released the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

A beat.

“I should take you home. You’re going to have a monstrous hangover in the morning.”

“No.”

“Jamie–”

“No!” He was adamant, sitting upright once more to look at me again. “I dinna  _want_  ta go  _home_.”

The emotions in the room were almost palpable; he was in a more vulnerable state than I, as tired as I was. My nerves began to spark again, settling in the pit of my stomach.

“What  _do_  you want, then?” I asked, my voice low and my arms slack at my sides.

He lifted his head a bit, blue eyes appraising me as he took in my appearance. My hair was plaited, pieces flying this way and that about my face. I’m sure that my breath reeked, but as did his–although of a stench all it’s own. My cheeks began to flush as I watched his irises dance from one part of my body to the other, from my face to my shoulders to my legs. A feeling I hadn’t felt in years rose from my chest, racing through my blood and filling me with adrenaline. If he tried anything at this point, I wouldn’t stop him.

“ _Christ_ , Claire,” he said a moment later, eyes earnest and sober despite his tipsiness. “Do you not know how I’ve  _burned_  for ye, all these years?”

The words were like a snake, wrapping around my heart and squeezing to the point where I was unable to move. I stared at him, his features all sharp and angular in the moonlight, the air filling with emotion, with the smoke of the flame.

“For _four whole years_ ,” he continued, “I’ve been here, waiting,  _hoping_  for the moment you would walk in the door and take me back into your arms but… you never did. I’ve been living my life like–like I’ve been  _burned_  to  **ashes**.”

I could feel the truth of his words in the air; the room was brimming with it, weighing me down.

“Jamie, I’m  _sorry_.” I filled the space between us in three strides, my hand finding his own in the dark. The moment our hands touched I could feel it: the old spark that I always knew was there, the thing I had always tried to find with Frank but had always been absent. The connection, the truth, all revealed to me in a single touch: I was his, as he was mine.

Without a thought, we moved closer together, our thighs flush against the other. His hand was clasping mine, as if afraid I was going to vanish.

After a moment, I reached for his face, making him look me in the eyes. With all the sincerity I could, I told him, “Show me, Jamie; let me burn with you.”

“No, you’ve a  _husband_ , Claire, I canna–”

I interrupted him with a kiss, taking his face in both my hands and pulling him to me. Instinctually he scooted closer, so that there was no space between us. The tension in the room melted away as he deepened it, tracing his tongue across my bottom lip and eliciting a gasp from me. He used this as the opportunity to gain entrance, our tongues dancing to the same tune as we lost ourselves in each other.

When I pulled away for breath, he swept his tongue down my neck, sucking and biting the soft flesh. He knelt in front of me, his thighs against my shins as he pushed the hem of my shirt up. With each new inch of skin exposed, he left a trail behind, leading all the way up to my breasts. He caressed each one until the nipple hardened before leaning to kiss them, running his tongue around the sensitive flesh. I suppressed a moan as I writhed beneath him, begging for more friction. Noticing this, he pulled the shirt quickly over my head before latching his fingers on the top of my panties. In one fast motion, he jerked them off and discarded them.

Now exposed to him completely, I leaned forward and tasted the skin behind his ear, tracing circles with my tongue. After a moan escaped from his parted lips, I murmured softly, “Fair’s fair.”

I took the collar of his shirt and tugged him towards me, kissing roughly enough to leave him breathless before I began to undo the buttons. A few popped off during my hasty actions, dropping unforgotten on the floor in front of us. I pushed the sleeves off his arms, admiring the toned form before me. Running my hands over his chest, I felt the hairs rise on end.

“Are you scared, darling? Or just cold?” I asked softly, grabbing his face once more between my hands.

A humorless laugh erupted from his chest. “Can it be both?”

Without another word, I went to kiss him again, to silence his fears and tell him  _ **yes** , I wanted this;  **no** , I’m not going to leave you._

_Not this time._

He pulled away a moment later, and I murmured against his lips, “Can we move this to a more  _comfortable_  location?”

Answering in a nod, he grabbed my arse as I wrapped my legs around him, desperate to keep any space between us filled. He made it to the bedroom in five strides–an impressive feat, even for someone as tall as him–and he set me down on the bed carefully, as if I was a porcelain doll on the verge of cracking. To prove that this wasn’t so, I reached down to the hem of his pants and pulled, revealing all of him to me.

“God, Jamie,” I murmured, tracing his love handles lightly with the tips of my fingers, “You’re so  _beautiful_.”

His lips twitched upwards slightly as he ran a finger down my cheek. “As are you,  _mo nighean donn_.”

I smiled, standing up so that we were eye to eye. His expression was hard to read–a mixture of lust and restraint, and I brought my hand to his cheek, searching through the cerulean depths as if I could find his soul.

“Are ye sure about this, Claire?” He whispered. “‘Cause I wilna be able to stop once I’ve started.”

Filling the space between us once more, my lips on his as I moaned, “I want this, Jamie. I want  _you_ , if you’ll have me.”

He nodded, “Aye. Of course I’ll have ye.”

I smiled coyly, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as I guided him back to the bed. He leaned down to kiss me passionately, his tongue tracing a line on my bottom lip as he positioned himself between my legs. I spread them wide, my knees at his torso as I waited for the moment when he would fill the final space between us. His hand ran down the expanse of my waist and bottom before reaching my thigh, where he squeezed tentatively. He pulled me closer to him, his need throbbing painfully against my own. I ground my hips against him, begging,  _pleading_  for him to end my agony.

When he pulled away from my lips and brought his hand up to caress my face, I understood. He was making me wait, as I had made  _him_. Hopefully, he wouldn’t take four  _bloody_  years about it.

“Jamie,” I moaned, coaxing him as I ground my hips against him once more.

With one final kiss to my breast, he entered me; slowly at first, as if he were a child at the beach testing the waters for warmth. As I dug my nails into his bicep, he gained more courage and pushed farther until his entire length was inside me. I moaned loudly, filled to the brim with ecstasy that I cried out, “Oh  _God_!”

He let out a soft moan of his own as he began to set a rhythm; I met him with each thrust, deepening the connection every time. His moans grew louder, as did mine, as I reached the edge of the precipice, resting on the final blow that would end it all.

“Yes!” I cried, my arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands tracing the scars on his back–the ones I had helped heal so many years before. “Oh,  _yes_ , Jamie.”

“Claire,” he sighed, filled with lust. My lips met his once more, biting and pulling as we neared the end. He moaned against my mouth. “I canna–”

I kissed him again. “Then don’t.”

With one final thrust we were one, riding the same wave into oblivion. He cried out and I felt him, filling me with all the love and longing and lust that had built up over the past four years. I pulled him closer, clinging to him as if he was life itself. Rolling onto his side, whilst still keeping our connection, he pulled me closer to him, my head resting on his shoulder and his on top of my own as we fell asleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning–the late morning, rather–I woke to find my bed empty. Sitting upright quickly as I heard shuffling in the kitchen, my heart lifted. Attempting to keep the smile from rising onto my face, I wrapped my body in the duvet and made my way out of the room as inconspicuously as possible. As I rounded the corner, however, I realized that the humming wasn’t the off-tune hum of Jamie Fraser, but the rather on-pitch hum of one Frank Randall.

My heart hardened and my stomach tightened.  _He_ had _left, after all._

As much as the idea hurt, I was glad for it; if Jamie had  _actually_  been here…

I shook the thought from my mind as I walked back to the bedroom to get ready for the day. As I was making the bed, I noticed a small slip of paper on my pillow. Gingerly, I picked it up and read the note written in his familiar hand:

> _MND–_
> 
> _You need to make a decision.  
>  I’ll be waiting._
> 
> _J_

I sighed, sitting back down on the bed where we had been only hours before. The sounds of Frank in the kitchen sent my heart aflutter.

It was then that the realization of what happened had hit me.

_What on Earth had I done?_


End file.
